


The Eyes of the Photographer

by Rachel_Lu



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, College, F/M, Falling In Love, Modeling, Photographs, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5804740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel_Lu/pseuds/Rachel_Lu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Tyler has sworn off men since Jimmy Stone ruined her experience with men.  When she meets a young photographer in her college, John Smith, she may just change her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another college AU that no one asked for but here it is! This is very different from "The Missing Something" if that's something you've read.

Rose Tyler was always in a rush. Dropping things while she was running about had always been a problem, and she longed for a world where she could just relax. University was 'taking its toll on a soul as young as hers' as her roommate, Martha, said. Rose would just roll her eyes and go back to pulling her all-nighter.

All-nighters were no stranger to Rose Tyler. As finals for her first semester at Cambridge approached, she found herself waking up with her head on an open book more often than on a pillow. Martha made sure to wake her up before leaving for class, and that was really the only way she got out the door on time.

Though she'd never say it, Rose knew that the reason she tried so hard was because she was trying desperately to shake her past. Growing up on an Estate wasn't exactly the best upbringing, or at least, that was the stereotype. Jackie Tyler did her best to raise her daughter alone, and Rose herself thought she'd done an excellent job.

"Wake up!" Martha crowed as she grabbed her bike helmet off the coffee table. "You'll be late for your history class if you just lay around like that."

Rose lifted her head from her book. "What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty."

Rose felt her eyes widen. "Nine-thirty? I've only got a half hour to get ready!"

"You're welcome. There's coffee on the counter with your name on it," Martha said on her way out the door.

"Thanks," Rose called after her, already getting ready to change her clothes and get ready for class in a mad rush. She only had time for the bare minimum of makeup and her hair pulled into a loose ponytail before she had to rush out the door to get to her bike.

A red bicycle probably wasn't the most glamorous thing to be riding, but Rose didn't care much for the opinion of her peers. She was rather popular all on her own for being so friendly and kind to the people she met. And, well, she attended the odd party, and she was known to have fun there.

Now, she'd forgotten her helmet and only remembered when she was halfway to her class. She pushed it aside; there were really other things to be worried about. Her bag was across her shoulder, hitting her hip with each rotation of the pedals, and that was all she needed to be convinced that she was prepared for whatever hell was about to be thrown at her.

Unfortunately, she was incorrect in being 'prepared'. She was, after all, anticipating going to class.

What she wasn't expecting was to run headfirst into another student on a bike.

Both of them hit the ground, much harder than a normal bike fall. Rose's head came in contact with the hard ground and she immediately checked her head to see if she was bleeding. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she sat up and looked up at the man she'd run into.

He was still scrambling up, sputtering and looking rather confused. Rose bit her lip, trying not to laugh at just how flustered he looked. Instead, she took a deep breath to calm herself and spoke to him. "Are you alright?"

The man looked up, and she was startled by just how attractive he was. He was _incredibly_ good looking, all wild hair and big, brown eyes. Also quite fit, by the looks of it.

"Yes! Yes, I'm just fine, I-" he stopped himself and his gaze darted down to her leg, where it rested under her bicycle. "Oh, let me help you."

Before she could protest that she really was fine, he'd crawled over to her and was lifting her bike off of her. He looked worried beyond belief, and when she followed his stare she saw her jeans were ripped and she was bleeding.

"Oh," she said dumbly. "Look, it's alright, thanks for moving that, though."

"No, no, this is all my fault," he said firmly, "You should come back to my dorm so I can patch you up."

Rose cocked her eyebrow at him. "Is that a line?"

He looked up at her, opening and closing his mouth as though he meant to say something intelligent but couldn't think of anything. Instead of speaking at all, he was staring at her.

"What?" She scowled at him, "Have I got blood or dirt on my face as well?"

That snapped him out of whatever trance he'd been in, and he sat back on his heels. "No, you haven't, it's just.... Well, you're beautiful."

Rose scoffed and got shakily to her feet, pulling her bike with her. "Alright, two lines in one go, good for you."

"No, I'm not trying to pick you up," the man insisted, "I've just been taking a photography class, and you look like someone I would love to photograph."

She gave him a look, not believing him. He got to his feet and sent her a sheepish grin, as though he knew it came out all wrong. She put her hands on her handlebars and regarded him carefully. "I'm nothing special," she said softly, "You should ask some of the girls in my art class, they're usually the models and don't even paint."

"You paint!" The man shouted, enthused.

Rose couldn't help it; she laughed. Not at him, never at him, he just seemed so kind. She was laughing because he looked so absurdly happy at the idea that she painted. He'd breezed over the rest of it entirely.

"Yes, I paint," she told him. "But seriously, ask... I dunno, ask Astrid or somebody."

She started to move away, but he reached out to grasp her arm lightly. "I'm serious," he said quietly, "I think you're beautiful and I'd like to take your picture."

"Why?"

"I just said why," he said indignantly. "Because I think you're beautiful."

She felt as though she should've felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but instead she felt as beautiful as he said he thought she was. She licked her lips subconsciously. "I've not got any makeup on, really, I must look a wreck," she said dismissively.

"Blimey, what is it with women and thinking they've got to wear makeup to be attractive?" The man dropped her arm and took a step back, appraising her. "You're lovely, and that's all there is to it. The only makeup you would need would be to keep you from being washed out by a camera. A camera, with which, I want to take your picture."

"For a project?"

"No, for practice, mostly, but if I can use them for an assignment, that's even better."

Rose cocked her head. "You're serious?"

"Yes."

"You're not trying to manipulate me so you can attack me in your dorm?"

His face went sheet white. "I would never," he said. "But if it would make you feel better we could take the pictures at that park off campus. Would that be more comfortable for you?"

"You sound as though you're making plans," she told him.

"Oh, I suppose I am," he said, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocking back on his heels. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume. Just got excited, I guess."

She giggled and looked down. Tapping her fingers on her handlebars, she raised her gaze to his again. "Yeah, alright, I guess a little photoshoot wouldn't be any harm, would it? You don't seem like a murderer."

"Quite the opposite," he said seriously, "I save puppies on the weekends."

She laughed again, finding his mere presence intoxicating, though she really did try to shut down any thoughts like that. He was a fellow student and wanted to take pictures of her, nothing more. "What do you want me to wear for it?" She asked.

"I've a brilliant idea," he said, pulling a marker from his pocket. "Give me your hand."

Knowing completely well what was coming, she gave him her hand and he scrawled a phone number across the back of it. She pulled her hand away and examined it. "That was a brilliant idea, eh? You had no idea that's how blokes give their numbers out?"

"I've never given my number to a girl," he said, and one look at his face told her he was serious.

"What, you don't swing that way?" She asked, trying not to seem disappointed.

He furrowed his brows, and then his face lit up with understanding. "No! No, no, I'm rather fond of women, quite fond, I think the fact that I find you quite lovely is proof of that and I-" he clamped his mouth shut. "I'll stop there."

She smiled and nodded. "That might be best. But your point was well received right here."

"Oh, good," he beamed at her. "Call me tonight, we'll get all the details squared away. What's your name?"

"Rose Tyler."

"Rose Tyler! I'm John Smith, it's lovely to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, John. I'd better get to class now."

He nodded, "Yes, of course. I'm sorry about crashing into you and... Well, skinning your leg up and ripping your jeans and... Blimey, this is not a good way to meet, is it?"

Rose giggled, "No, I suppose it's not ideal, but you've got yourself a model out of it, so I hope you're happy."

"Very, thank you."  He was smiling at her as though she were the most important thing in the world, and something bailout it stunned her.

She shook herself, not allowing any of that to continue on. It was fanciful and foolish; he probably looked at everybody that way. She was nothing special, after all. Simple Rose Tyler, after all.

He had said he thought she was beautiful, though.  The thought made her feel a little bit warm inside.

She realized that now they were just standing and staring at each other; grinning like two idiots. "Sorry," she said sheepishly, and mounted her bike.  "I'll call you tonight and we can make arrangements."

"Brilliant!" John pulled his bike up as well. "I look forward to it, Rose Tyler.

For the first time in her life, Rose couldn't focus in class because of a man she'd met.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

She sat in her writing class later that day, more focused on the call she had to make to John that night than the piece she was typing.  It had been a long time since Rose had had any sort of not-strictly-platonic contact with a man in a very long time.  She found herself fixated on him, though she wasn't sure why.  He didn't mean anything to her, she'd just met him, after all.  There was no reason for her to think of him at all.  

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she forced herself to take a deep breath.  She was being foolish, acting like a hormonal teenager.  Only kids fixated on someone like that. 

Then again, a traitorous part of her mind reminded her, he had told her that she was beautiful.  And not only had he told her as such, but he was going to take pictures of her that he didn't even need for an assignment.  He'd _wanted_ to. 

She sighed heavily and tried to focus back in on her writing piece.  It was going to be a very long day if she didn't reign in her mind and keep herself in check.  She'd call him that night and wouldn't think about him until then.

***

As it turned out, Rose thought about him a lot.  She thought of him all the way back to her door, mostly because her jeans were ripped from their meeting that morning.  She entered her dorm and tried to explain the situation to a studying Martha as she threw her books back into their rightful places. 

"What?" Martha whipped her glasses off and threw them on her desk.  "A bloke tells you he wants to take pictures of you and you don't question it?"

"Well, I did question it, but I guess I... Oh, I don't know, Martha, there was something about him," Rose said, scribbling down John's phone number on a sticky note to transfer to her phone later.  She didn't want to lose it in the meantime.

"You don't go nuts over blokes," Martha pointed an accusing finger at her, "You just don't.  I don't know, Rose, that's a little fishy."

Rose flopped back on her bed and stared up at the ceiling.  She considered Martha's words for a few moments.  "I'm gonna do it."

"Rose!"

"I am!" She pulled her phone out and dialed John's number before she could think better of it.  "Now hush up."

John answered on the second ring.  "Hello, Rose Tyler!"

Rose blinked in surprise.  "How... How'd you know it was me?"

"I wasn't expecting a phone call from any strange number but yours," he replied.  "I take it you'd like to set up our photography appointment?"

Rose nodded before realizing that he couldn't see her.  Was she really caught up in him already?  "Yeah, yeah I would.  I need a date, time, place, and what you want me to wear," she said, all business.  She pretended not to see Martha roll her eyes at the tone. 

"Probably nothing," she mouthed, and Rose felt her eyes widen at that.  It was something she refused to consider. 

"Ah, yes.  What are you doing tomorrow?" He asked, and she heard shuffling about on his end, as though grabbing for a calendar and pencil.

"I've a free day."

"Perfect!  Shall we convene at the old church around three?"

Rose wrinkled her nose.  "The old church?  That's a weird place for pictures, John."

"Ah, yes, but the scenery is beautiful!  Do you own any formal gowns?  Flowing things?"

She didn't.  "Hang on," Rose said in a rushed voice and covered the receiver.  "Martha, do you have any long, flowing dresses?"

Martha looked up slowly, "Oh, no, I'm not helping you with your creepy picture guy."

Rose gave her a pleading look and the other woman rolled her eyes.

"Oh, alright, I've got a red one up in the closet.  Used it in my sister's wedding.  Their theme was 'spring fling.'

Rose laughed.  "Okay, thank you, thank you!"  She pulled the receiver back to her ear.  "Yes, I've got a red dress, and it's... Rather flowing."

"Perfect," he said enthusiastically, "Please keep your makeup minimal, Rose, only enhance, don't cover."

"Yes sir."

He chuckled.  "I'll see you then.  It's on my calendar plain as day!"

Rose bit her lip, alarmed at how shy she felt.  "Yeah, okay, that sounds good."

"And, Rose?" 

Finally relaxing, Rose sat down on the edge of her bed, "Yeah, John?"

"Please don't be nervous.  I promise I'm not a pervert."

"That's something a pervert would say."

"Point taken.  But I'll stand by it."

"Alright, alright.  Well, I'll decide for myself tomorrow."

She heard John's laugh on the other end and found herself grinning at it. 

"Have a lovely evening, Rose, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"You as well," she replied, kicking her feet a little.  "Goodnight."

They rang off and Rose turned to Martha with a beaming smile.  "And he's gorgeous, too," she told her.

Martha rolled her eyes in a rather rough motion.  "That wasn't at all an awkward phone conversation.  Maybe he's a psychopath."

"He doesn't sound much like a psychopath, Martha.  He's a really nice man."

"Yeah, and so was the guy from 'Psycho'.  For all you know, he could dress up like his mum and stab you!" Martha made vague gestures with her arms and her pencil flew out of her hand.

Rose sighed.  "No.  No, he's not like that, really, he's not."

"Mm, hmm.  If you turn up dead in back of that old church, don't blame me for it, you got me?"

"Yeah, alright, Martha, if it makes you feel better, when I die, no matter how, you can blame John."

"I will, thanks."

****

The next morning, Rose found herself up and about earlier than usual, brushing herself up and trying to make herself presentable... For a man.  It had been what felt like literal ages since she had done anything like that.  And here she was, going mad over a random bloke she'd crashed into the day before. 

After donning Martha's dress, she made sure to shake herself back under control.  The dress was really the epitome of flowing.  It was high waisted and fluttered out from there.  The neck was low, but not absurdly so, only revealing the skin a few inches below her collarbone.  The sleeves were short, sheer, and as flowing as the skirt, and when wearing the dress, Rose felt the inexplicable urge to go barefoot.

"Oh, you look nice," Martha said as she shoved a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, "Let me take a mental picture of you for when you go missing."

Rose offered her an exasperated look as she picked up her makeup bag.  "Martha."

"Yeah, alright, I'm really not sorry about it, Rose.  I've got a bad feeling about all this, and I'm really surprised you don't.  You're usually so discerning."

Rose sat down at her desk and double checked her hair in her desk mirror before beginning to apply light makeup.  "Maybe I'm still discerning and I'm correct in assuming there's nothing wrong with him at all."

She made sure to keep the makeup light, as John had asked her to, and saw that she had an hour left.  Sitting at the desk, she shifted back and forth, not sure what to do with the rest of her time. 

"You should paint your toenails," Martha said sarcastically.

Rose really didn't have anything better to do.  She made sure to make eye contact with Martha the whole time she was reaching into her desk drawer to pull out a bottle of red nail polish and opening it.

Martha rolled her eyes.  "I have class.  Try not to get kidnapped, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Martha patted her roommate's head as she passed and stopped at the door as she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder.  "I mean it, Rose.  Please, please, be careful."

Rose met her gaze.  "I will, Martha, I promise."

She sat and painted her toenails, waiting for them to dry in silence before catching a taxi to the old church.


	3. Chapter 3

She wasn't nervous, not exactly. There were a few fleeting seconds on the way to the church that resembled sheer terror, but no, not nervous. Maybe it was because she realized she would be alone with a random man she'd only met once so he could take photographs of her. That was weird.

How many girls had he done this with? He said he'd never given his number to a girl, but how was she supposed to believe that? The sweetest men were always the con artists, she thought to herself mournfully. It was probably all a prank. It would make sense after all. She slammed her head against the back of her seat and tried not to think about it. Dwelling wouldn't do any good anyway.

The taxi let her off at the old church, and after a murmured thanks and money paid, she exited as gracefully as possible and approached it. It really was a beautiful thing, all steeple and stained glass windows and ancient architecture. She'd always loved looking at it, and wondered if John would suggest they go inside. She found herself nearly shivering at the thought.

Before she could let her thoughts get any farther away from her than they already were, John came out from the front of the church, a rather professional looking camera hanging around his neck. He beamed at her and approached her, pulling her into his arms by her waist. Surprised at the motion, she giggled and carefully avoided his camera as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He squeezed her and hummed happily in her ear, pulling away from her to step back and grab her hands. He looked her up and down before grinning up at her.

"You look beautiful," He told her, not sounding at all fake. He meant it, and she could tell.

Trying and failing to stop the blush, she looked down. "Thank you," she said.

He squeezed her hands and dropped one so he could lace their fingers together. He tugged her along, not to the front of the church, but behind it. "There's a little meadow back here," he explained, and just as he said, there was a lovely, although small, meadow just behind the ancient brick of the church. It was littered with little weeds that looked more like little flowers.

John moved to stand in front of her, fluffing her hair out. She tried not to let her eyes fall closed at his touch. He smiled at her and gestured for her to sit. "Flare the skirts out," he told her, "I'll arrange them."

She did as he asked, her knees to the side of her. Her skirts flared out around her, she shifted, placing her hands in her lap and looking up at him.

"Gorgeous," he said quietly, almost as if he didn't mean to say it out loud. He got down to his knees before her and grasped her skirt in his hands, spreading it just so, in beautiful ways she would've never imagined to put it in. Smoothing one bit, he pulled his camera up and aimed his camera at her. "Don't look at me," he said, "Look just over my left shoulder."

Rose let her gaze linger on his face for a moment before looking where he told her too.

She didn't think he meant to say the little words of praise and endearment as he snapped picture after picture, but after a while, a murmur of "ah, stunning," made her cheeks color slightly. He beamed over his camera at her at that.

"Oh, that's very becoming," he remarked before hiding behind the lens again.

There was something about having this man take her picture that made her feel bold and empowered and beautiful all at once. Eventually, though, he'd had enough of the pose she was in and stood, wiggling his fingers down at her. She slid her hands into his and he pulled her to her feet, still grinning like a loon. "Okay."

The next few hours were spent with her running and twirling through the meadow, and as he took pictures of her they talked, learning all about each other, and they found they had quite a bit in common.

"You like to travel?" he asked in surprise as he got a particularly beautiful shot of her.

She nodded, allowing her fingers to play over her skirt as she spun around, almost tipping over into the grass. "Been to America once, for a semester."

"My roommate is American," John said. "Did you like it there very much?"

"Went to California to visit a relative," Rose replied, "It's very sunny, lovely."

"It's sunny today," he pointed out.

"Yeah, it is."

The sun started to set once they'd gotten into the easy swing of conversation, and John looked up at the sky, squinting at the disappearing star. "I'd like to get some shorts of you inside," he said, "In the dying light."

"Yeah, alright," she agreed, and he led her inside the church, snapping the wayward picture here and there before they got into the sanctuary of the church.

It really was gorgeous inside, and she couldn't stop herself from looking up at the ornate ceiling and letting her mouth open slightly. Only the click of John's camera brought her back to reality and she snapped her gaze back to John.

He smiled at her sheepishly. "Sorry, but you just looked so-" he shrugged, "Real."

She scrunched her eyebrows up at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" She asked, lacing her fingers together in front of her.

"You're so honest," he said, "Every piece of you, whatever you say. It's refreshing." He lifted a shoulder. "You look really lovely in this one," he said, scrolling through the pictures to find the one he'd just taken before showing it to her, an anxious look on his face, like he was waiting for her approval.

She glanced at it and noticed that, although she didn't find herself remarkably beautiful, she looked well lit and flattering in the picture he'd taken. "You're an excellent photographer," she told him, nearly breathless, as she'd never seen herself that way before.

He preened at the compliment. "I'd like to get pictures of you sitting on the altar up there." Upon seeing the look on her face, he backpedaled, "No, no, it's not used any more, it's really just for decoration, I promise."

Rose relaxed, "Oh, alright." She allowed him to take her to the altar and before she could say a single word, he'd grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the altar before leaning around her to spread her skirts over the whole table.

He was suddenly very close, his hands rather close to her hips, and she was really very frustrated with how much she wanted him to grab her. She shook herself internally. There would be no dating for her, and she knew that, because her studies were really too important, and she didn't want to get hurt again. Jimmy had been a nightmare, and she only had to remember that to tell herself that she didn't need any more relationships.

"Is there anyplace you'd like to go?" He asked her, "To travel to?"

"Ireland," she said without hesitation, "Not for any particular reason, I just... I want to."

He nodded, "Culture, and all that. Lean back on your hands please, yes perfect," he pulled his camera up to his face and started taking pictures, "Ireland would be lovely, all those different things to see, even if it might be similar to things we do here. And the accents, blimey, they have thick accents."

She laughed, a real laugh, not the forced one she'd used to give to people who told awful jokes. But everything he said was so sincere that she couldn't help but be interested in what he had to say, that she couldn't hold herself back.

"Now _that_ was gorgeous," he said enthusiastically, "You should laugh more."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Oh, that's a line."

He was suddenly standing in front of her, his hands on the table on either side of thighs, on top of her skirts. "It... It might be," he said quietly, almost shyly.

They were staring at each other so intently that she swore she felt time slow around them and feel the heat of his hands next to her legs. She felt herself running through the moments of the day in her mind, how he was attentive to her and lovely and they talked as though they were old friends. They felt like old friends. Friends with a lot of tension.

She didn't mean to reach for his forearms and touch them with her fingers, right under his rolled up shirtsleeves, but she did. And she was sure that he didn't mean to grasp her lightly at the waist, but there his warm hands were, at her waist. He stepped forward slowly, standing between her knees, and pulled her slowly to the edge of the altar.

It was impossible to break eye contact, and both of them were breathing heavily now, close enough that their breath was mingling.

"Rose," he said breathlessly, "You... You're _brilliant."_

"John," her hand found the back of his neck and without thinking she pulled him in to kiss her.

There was a moment where he froze, and she was sure she'd gotten it all wrong, but then his arms were all the way around her and he was clinging to her, kissing her back, holding her as though he'd never see another woman again, and didn't even want to. She locked her arms around his neck, keeping him right where she wanted him, not that he was going anywhere.

His mouth opened over hers, and she let him deepen the kiss as she let her legs wrap around his waist, bringing him closer to her. His hands stroked up and down her back, touching her in wide strokes as though he wanted to hold all of her at once. He was kissing her so hard that he was pushing her back on the altar, hovering over her, and it was then, with her mostly bare back against the wood, that she realized what she was doing.

No commitment, she couldn't do it.

She pulled away from his kiss, gasping for air as she dropped her legs from around his waist. He didn't seem to register quite what was going on as he nipped and kissed along her jawline in an almost reverent motion before he moved down to her pulse point, sucking harshly in what she knew would leave a mark behind.

"John."

"Rose," he still wasn't understanding, but to be fair, she hadn't even started to try pushing him away, only held his shoulders limply as he lavished her neck with attention.

He moved back to her mouth, kissing her deeply, and she allowed him, foolish enough to admit that she wanted it, before finally coming fully to her senses and pushing at his shoulders. He went back instantly, looking down at her with a confused and hurt expression, much like a kicked puppy.

"Rose, what's wrong?" He asked quietly, a worried tone in his voice.

She couldn't look at him, not when he was looking at her like that. "I can't," she shoved at his shoulders again.

He went back, standing up as she sat up. He swallowed and looked down. "Oh." He nodded and carded a hand through his hair, looking away from her. "Oh, I... I see. I'm really sorry, Rose."

She tucked her hair behind her ears, trying to fight off inexplicable tears. "I have to go," she murmured, and didn't look back as she fled from the church, hailing the first taxi she saw and crying quietly all the way back to her dorm room.

What Rose missed was the shocked and dreadfully hurt look on John's face as she ran from him, and the way he sat onto the altar she'd just been on and put his head in his hands.


	4. Chapter 4

"You _snogged_ him?" 

Martha was shrieking and Rose was laying in bed, covering her face with her hands.  She'd come right home and flopped down onto her back, trying not to cry and failing miserably at it.  Her roommate was nearly in hysterics.

"I hope he was at least good," Martha sniffed.  

"He was," Rose replied, her voice muffled by her own hands.  "He was really, really fantastic."

Martha stopped her pacing and squatted before Rose's bed.  "Really?"

Rose dropped her hands from her face.  "Yeah," she said, "And he was really sweet.  We talked, really talked, like we'd been friends forever, and he... He called me beautiful."

"So, this guy really liked you, he really, truly liked you and wanted to kiss you because you connected and he thought you were beautiful, and you _ran away?"_

Rose groaned, "Well, when you say it like that, it sounds awful.  Besides, you were the one who didn't want me to go!"

Martha shrugged.  "But he seemed to really care, based on what you said, and, well, Rose, you should be happy.  You run away from any relationship that could make you happy.  And it sounds like this 'John' guy could make you happy."

"It doesn't matter," Rose replied.  "It really doesn't matter."

"You like him."

"Yeah."

*********************

It seemed odd the next few days, how often she almost ran into John.  He was biking past her on the way to class, he was on campus all the same times as her.  It was all very odd, she knew, but every time she saw him, she tried to avoid eye contact when he tried to make it.

Every time she did it, it broke her heart.  She didn't mean to snub him, she knew it wasn't fair, that she'd initiated the kiss and it was therefore her fault, but she wasn't willing to get too close to him.  She'd probably just kiss him again.  

Finally, though, they was no way to stop from running into him, and she wasn't expecting him to be the one to get her attention.  

She felt someone grab at her arm and turned around to look at a very anxious looking John.  He was holding a manila folder in his hand.  They stepped out of the flow of people in the hallway and sat at the bench to the side without a word, mutual understanding between them.

"I've... I've this for you," he said, his hands shaking as he held the folder towards her.  

She took it and offered him a smile.  "The pictures?"

He nodded.  "Yeah."  His hands moved to clasp tightly in his lap.  "Yeah, those are your pictures.  Rose they're-"  He cut himself off and looked away from her.  "I'm sorry."

"I should be the one apologizing to you," she said, but before he could get that hopeful look in his eyes, she continued, "I don't do relationships.  I really just don't, I can't, and I..."

"No, I understand," he said softly.  "I didn't mean to throw myself at you, Rose, I just..." He fidgeted uncomfortably and she thought that maybe she shouldn't be sitting so close to him.  

"It was my fault," she said. 

He shot her a glare, "You make it sound like it was an awful occurrence, and I can't say I remember it that way at all." 

She furrowed her brows at him.  "I don't know what to say." 

"I just, it's hard for me to, I mean, I just..." He blew out a sigh and cut himself off.  "I'm sorry, I am.  I hope you like your copies of the pictures."  

And with that he disappeared into the crowd again, quicker than anything she could've dreamed up.  She'd wanted him to stay, as foolish as that was, because he'd just given her a free pass to never talk to him again. 

She looked down at the folder in her hands and sighed heavily before walking away to go to her next class.

**********

Martha ended up rifling through them first as Rose did her homework.  

"Blimey, Rose, these are gorgeous!" She said enthusiastically.  Rose, against her better judgement, looked over Martha's shoulder at the photos and had to agree that John was an excellent photographer.  He captured every good angle she had, and made her look, dare she say it, beautiful.

"I told you he was talented," Rose said softly.

"He gave you these because he wanted you to have them, not just because you were in them.  Oh, Rose, he's got it bad for you."

"He apologized to me for what happened," Rose said, "But I was the one who wanted to... I initiated it."

"You started it?"

"I started it."

Martha hummed as she flipped through more of the photos.  "You know, you should probably finish it."

"Martha!"

"I'm serious!" She swung around to slap the pictures down in front of Rose.  "I've seen loads of pictures, Rose, loads, and these tell one hell of a story.  These are pictures taken by a man who is completely infatuated.  Every bit of that photo was taken carefully.  I'll dare say he arranged your skirts too."

Rose looked up at Martha sheepishly, not wanting to say the words out loud and prove her friend right.  Martha's jaw dropped and she pointed at Rose.

"He's got it bad for you, Rose." 

"He doesn't even know me!" Rose shouted, angrily turning back to her desk.  "He doesn't.  Besides, even if he did, I-"

"You got hurt, you're sad, isn't that awful?" Martha said mockingly.  "Like I said, you're kicking something out that could be really good."

Rose scrubbed a hand over her face.  "It doesn't matter, Martha, I've had enough of boys for now.  I've got to get my degree and get out of here.  That's all this is for."

"You could also have a little bit of fun while you're at it," Martha replied, "It wouldn't kill you to go to a crazy party or something."

"I go to parties," Rose protested.

"You go to the most tame mixers I've ever seen," Martha corrected, rolling her eyes.  "I think tonight we ought to get you out to a really big party.  A frat party."

Rose narrowed her eyes at her roommate.  "Are you kidding?  A frat party?  Be realistic, that's not my scene, I haven't even gone clubbing since high school."

"But you had so much fun in high school.  I heard the stories from your friends when they came to visit.  You were a riot!" 

"I was out of control."

"But fun!" Martha grinned.  "Come on, you've not got classes tomorrow, and really, what else are you doing?" 

Rose blew her cheeks out, trying to think of another reason to refuse.  Unfortunately, she was really quite unable to, and she sighed heavily, trying not to make eye contact with Martha.  This was something she'd really never done for ages, and she didn't know that she was cut out for it any more.  Could she even dance anymore?

"I don't have any clothes for a party," Rose said quickly.

"I do," Martha protested.  "Enough excuses.  You're going."

Rose looked at Martha, watching her closely, and being very sure Martha knew she was thinking very hard.  Finally, she groaned and threw her pencil down, probably too aggressively.  "Alright, fine, if it'll get you off my case."

Martha squealed in excitement.  "Great, cause I know this excellent club-"

"Wait, you said frat party!" 

"Did I?" Martha asked, feigning innocence, "Oh, I meant a club.  And you've already agreed, so that's where we're going."

Rose rolled her eyes and tried to focus on her homework.  She was really in for it this time, and she knew it.


	5. Chapter 5

Rose hated every moment of getting ready to go to the club with Martha.  Her roommate had been fussing over her for an hour, making her exchange her jeans for a skirt that was as short as Rose would allow, which happened to be just above knee length.  It was gold and borderline gaudy, and Rose tried not to be embarrassed about the tightness of the thing when she looked at herself in the mirror.  

A black, loose, off the shoulder top completed the look, and she felt a bit more comfortable.  That comfort was ripped away when Martha put her in black strappy shoes.  She protested, trying to insist that if she wore her converses they would think she was edgy and fun.  Martha simply rolled her eyes and shoved the shoes at Rose.

By the time she was all made up and looking rather good, if she did say so herself, she found herself getting a little more confident. 

Martha bit her tongue.  She wanted to tell Rose that that was probably the reason John had been so besotted with her.  He'd seen the beauty within her and had drawn it out with photographs.  

"Okay," Rose said, sighing heavily, "Let's go."

Martha grinned wildly, "Yeah, let's go."

She looked good, and she knew she did, but Rose was having trouble coping with it.  She tugged at her skirt nervously the whole time they sat in the taxi, and Martha watched her worriedly.  She wanted to say something to her friend, about just letting someone in, doing something stupid, running away with the photographer or letting him kiss her again.  She bit her tongue, though, knowing that Rose wouldn't take kindly to it, and she finally had gotten her to go with her to this club.

"It's been ages since I was even at a party, Martha," Rose said, "And you've class in the morning."

"I'm the Queen of hangover cures," Martha bragged, "Don't you worry your head about it.  Can get you one tomorrow too, if you get sloshed enough."

Rose rolled here eyes.  "I'm not gonna get sloshed, Martha."

Martha bit her tongue again.  It wouldn't do for Rose to know that that was the goal of the whole night.

They got to the club and Rose pretended not to be uncomfortable as she showed the bouncer her ID and walked into the club ahead of Martha.  The bass was already throbbing in her ears, vibrating through her chest and making her feel an unexpected thrill.  She wanted to dance, and drink, and do things that would make her forget the whole fiasco with John as soon as possible.

She managed to wait for Martha, though, before suggesting they get drinks to loosen up with.  Martha agreed with Rose, having a feeling that it would really be in Rose's best interest to get some alcohol in her system before they danced.  

"Scotch on the rocks, please," Rose said the second she put herself in a chair.  The bartender nodded curtly at her and immediately started mixing her drink.  He handed it to her in a timely fashion, and Rose found herself halfway done with it by the time Martha had received her drink.  

"Whoa, slow down there, mama," Martha said, eyeing up Rose's glass.

Rose shrugged, "Think I might need more, if I'm honest with you."

"Drink up, then, but pace yourself," Martha laughed.  She lifted her glass in a toast to the bartender.  "Cheers, mate."

The bartender grinned at her.  "Cheers, lady."

Three drinks later Martha and Rose decided it was time they went dancing, while they could still walk in their heels.  Rose had forgotten how much fun it was to just live in the moment like that.  She lifted her arms and gave herself over to the music, letting it pulse through her.  She closed her eyes, hearing Martha's tipsy giggling next to her.  

"Having fun, Rose?" Martha asked loudly over the music.

Rose opened her eyes and found herself nodding.   "Yeah, weirdly enough!"

She was having fun, that was, until she turned and saw John sitting at the bar, absently stirring his drink.  

"Martha!" She shouted, grabbing her friend's arm.  "He's here!"

Martha gave her a confused look.  "You'll have to be more specific about that, Rose, there's a lotta 'he's' in here."

The two of them giggled, a little bit drunk as they were, and found themselves giggling so hard that they nearly forgot what they were talking about.  Rose finally caught up to herself and swatted at Martha's arm.

"John," she stage whispered close to her ear.

Martha felt a spark of hope.  Maybe, with as inebriated as Rose was, she could bring herself to go talk to the boy who seemed to be the man of her dreams.  She looked to where Rose was not so subtley pointing, and nodded her approval.

"Go for it," she said loudly, "You should talk to him."

She saw the war fight itself behind Rose's eyes.  The urge to go to him was strong, she could see it, but she was still coherent enough to think that maybe it wasn't a good idea.  She rocked forward on her shoes, as though getting ready to run for him, but she took a step back instead. 

"Go get him," Martha repeated, "Get another drink and sit with him, he looks damn awkward."

Rose's eyes glazed over, the attraction she felt for that man showing plainly.  "Yeah," she said slowly, "I'm... I'm gonna go say hi."

Martha watched as Rose teetered over to the stool next to John's at the bar.  She grabbed the counter.  "John!" She slurred excitedly.

John looked at Rose, startled.  He'd not expected to see her tonight, or any night, really, but here she was, a little drunk, grinning at him with her hand on his arm.

"Hello, Rose," he said uncertainly.  

"You got a date or can I sit here?" She asked.  

"Go ahead," John said, helping her into the stool with his hand grasping her under the elbow.  "Are you alright?"

"Yeah!" Rose nodded emphatically, signalling for the bartender.  She gave him the order for another strong drink and turned her attention back to John.  "Martha brought me here to let me forget all the stuff I try to forget about but just end up endlessly remembering.'

"And... And what would that be, Rose?" John asked carefully.

Her eyes grew clear and she looked straight into John's eyes.  "You," she whispered.  The bartender set her drink down in front of her and her attention was taken from him.  

He stared at her.  She was flushed and beautiful and he'd never seen a woman like her.  He was so drawn to her, but couldn't explain why.  She was so easy to talk to, not at all fake, and downright lovely, but she'd very efficiently shut him down.  

Martha, as all this was happening, was deciding to take a taxi home.  Rose could, and needed to, figure this out herself. 

"You look lovely tonight," he told her as she drained the rest of her drink. 

She turned on her chair to look at him, her eyes wide.  "Really?" She said, "You think I look lovely?  I thought I looked trashy."

He smiled softly, "No, Rose, you look lovely."

She shifted around in her seat, blushing madly.  "Thank you, John."  Suddenly back on what seemed to be a regular topic, she sat up straight as a board.  "You take such beautiful pictures, Martha and I looked through them and they're really very gorgeous."

"Thank you," he said warmly.  She leaned forward towards him, her eyelids heavy.  Her fingers came out to touch his cheek.  

"I'm sorry," she said tearfully, "I just... I like you too much, like a lot, John, in a way that I've never liked anyone and that's scary and-" she raised her hand to her head.  "I... My head hurts."

John stood up and took her shoulders gently, keeping her steady.  "I think it might be time to find your friend, Rose."

She stood up and he held her close against his side.  He scanned the crowd with her, and heard her make an odd noise in the back of her throat as her head moved from side to side.

"What is it?" John asked, trying to follow her movements.

"She's not here," Rose said, sounding afraid.  She fumbled for her mobile and pulled it out of her purse.  "Oh.  She went home."

"That's alright, I can take you home, I haven't had anything to drink," John assured her.  "Where do you live?" 

She looked up at him, her eyes huge with worry.  "I don't remember.  I'm not even that drunk, and I don't remember!"

"I can take you to my place, Rose," he said carefully, hoping she wouldn't think he was presuming something that he wasn't presuming.  Though he would presume, if the situation was right, which it wasn't.

"Yeah," she said, her face changing again to something hungry.  "Take me home, John."

"Right," he suppressed a shiver and kept his arm around her as he led her out to his car.  She was completely unsteady on her feet, and he had to pretty much lift her into the car to get her safely inside.  She reached up and tugged on the tie he was wearing with an untucked oxford, bringing her mouth close to his.  "John," She breathed, "I'm an idiot."

He chuckled, trying not to let himself get pulled in by her gazes and touches.  "Alright, Rose.  I'm going to take you back to my flat now, alright?"

She gave him a sloppy wink and pressed a messy kiss to his cheek.  "Yeah," she said, "Take me home."

He pulled away and shut her car door, knowing that this night was really going to be the death of him. 


	6. Chapter 6

John drove back to his flat slowly, not quite wanting to reach there with the drunk girl he was besotted with in the passenger's seat.  She was leaning across the console and staring up into his face, making it very difficult to focus indeed.

"Rose, is your seatbelt on?" he asked conversationally.

She blinked and looked down at herself.  "No," she said, leaning even closer to him. "Do I need it?"

"Yes, if we get into an accident, I would want you to have it on," he told her.

A slow smile crawled across her face and he could see her mischievous expression from the corner of his eye.  "Anything that happens in this car will be no accident, John," she purred.

He felt his eyes widen as he griped the steering wheel tighter.  "Okay, seatbelt on now."

Grumbling to herself, she slid fully into her seat and fumbled with the buckle for a few minutes before clicking it into place.  She crossed her arms and looked over at him.  "Are you happy, now?"

"Yes, Rose," he said appeasingly.  "You're very drunk, did you know that?"

"Yeah, Martha got me drunk," Rose said, "She said I needed it, to forget all my feelings."

Not quite paying attention, he asked her, "And what feelings would that be, Rose?"

"The feelings for you."

His knuckles were turning white with how tightly he was holding the steering wheel.  "Oh," he said simply.  "To be fair, Rose, you were the one who ran away, back at the church."

"I don't like commitment," she said, wrinkling her nose, "But I like you, and that doesn't add up."  She gazed over at him.  "You're really good looking.  Like, really, really good looking."

He blushed at the compliment, not having expected it from her.  "Yes, Rose, I think you're very good looking, too."

She made a happy sound in the back of her throat.  "You don't hate me?" 

His lip twitched, "No, Rose, I don't hate you."

"Well, you should, I was awful to you."

He snorted.  "I couldn't hate you, Rose," he said.  "I'm trying to help you sober up, I wouldn't do that if I hated you."

"I want chips."

"Chips?"

"Yeah."

He smiled to himself.  "Rose, we'll pick up chips on the way home, how does that sound?"

If he factored out the fact that she was drunk, this would be a very couple-y thing to do.  Going out late and getting chips before going home and tucking into bed, having her hand wander over his leg-wait.

"Rose, stop that, I'm driving," he said sternly.

"Don't you like it though?"

He took her hand and returned it to her side of the car.  "Stop that or no chips."

She grumbled to herself about being treated like a child but stayed in her seat.  

Although he would like nothing more than to enter the chip shop with Rose Tyler on his arm, he knew that he needed to get her to his flat and get a glass of water into her.  So he locked her in the car and picked up takeout chips instead, keeping the bag from her as he got back into the car.  

The drive to his flat was no less torturous than it had been before.  Her hand kept creeping over to tousle his hair or trace his nose and he really had to stop himself from pulling over and snogging her within an inch of her life.  He remembered, though, that she didn't want that from him, and she'd made it very clear when she'd run from him.  A man's ego could only take so much.  Had she rejected him _before_ she'd kissed him, it would've been very easy for him to not become obsessed with her, but he really was thinking about her quite a lot, as it stood now.

And _now_ she was drunk and in his car.  It would smell of her perfume in the morning.

With arms full of chips and Rose, he led her up the stairs to his flat.  Her head lolled onto his shoulder and he held her around the waist, trying to ignore how pleasant the feeling was.  It wouldn't do for him to feel things like that.

She had to lean on him more heavily as he unlocked the door and led her inside.  She immediately sat down on the floor and took her shoes off as he set out their chips on the table.  

"Come on, Rose," he walked over to her and hoisted her to her feet, "I'll get you some water, too, alright?  Go have a seat."

Before he could move she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.  He hesitated, but allowed himself to touch his hand to her back, not trusting himself to truly hug her back.  She stood there for a few moments before she pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek and slid into her chair.  

He shook himself and fetched them both water, but was deliberate about the way he set her glass in front of her.  "Drink all of that, do you understand me?" he said sternly.

"Yes sir," she said, giving him a mock salute. 

It didn't take them long to eat.  John hadn't realized how hungry he had been.  Once she was finished, her eyelids were starting to hang, but she hadn't finished her water.  He sighed and pointed at it.  "Drink it, Rose," he said.  "Please."

She looked at him, startled, but did as he asked.  He nodded in satisfaction and moved to lift her from her chair.  She seemed a little unstable, adding her exhaustion to her drunkenness, so he slipped an arm under her knees and lifted her to carry her in his arms.  She squealed in delight and wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder.  

He laid her on the bed, and she clearly thought he had nefarious intent, because she held onto the lapels of his jacket to try to keep him there.  She tried to pull him on top of her and was almost strong enough to manage it.  Unfortunately, he ended up just falling on top of her.  

"Rose," he whined, "Come on, don't do this to me."

"There are lots of things I want to do to you," she told him, and tugged his mouth onto hers.  

He was shocked enough to respond for a few moments, cupping her cheek gently with one of his hands.  Remembering she was drunk was a horrible moment and he pulled away from her harshly.  "Payback," he murmured as he got up and stepped away from her, moving to his dresser. 

"Come to bed, John," she said lowly, and he fought down a shiver as he pulled out a large t-shirt for her to wear.  He threw it at her face.

"You can probably wear that over your knickers to sleep in."

She looked startled by this turn of events, but started removing her shirt.  He averted his eyes as she wriggled out of her skirt as well and put his shirt on.  "Okay, 'm done," she told him, and he turned back around. 

"Get under the covers and go to sleep," he said, helping her slide under from her place on the duvet.  She reached up and locked one of her hands into his hair. 

"Be with me," she said, "Come on."

"No," he told her, "You'll just regret it in the morning, I know you will."  He sighed and looked away from her before removing her hand from his hair.  "Goodnight, Rose."

"Goodnight," she said, sounding disappointed. 

He made his way to the dresser and pulled out a set of pajamas for himself before going to the doorway and flicking the light off.

"John?"

"Yes, Rose."

"You take pretty pictures."

He smiled softly, leaving the door open in case she needed something.  "Thank you, Rose."


	7. Chapter 7

John had just gotten into his pajamas and was setting up a bed on the couch when his roommate entered, whistling happily.

"Good date?" John asked with half-interest, fluffing the lounge pillows.

Jack, his American roommate, grinned his way.  "She was a dream.  He was too."  He threw his keys onto the mail table and turned back to John.  "Aren't you usually in bed by now?"

John froze.  "Uh... Yes, yes, that I am, Jack, but tonight I went out to a club to have a drink and I met up with a friend.  I was out later than I expected to be."

"And you didn't bring said friend home with you?" Jack asked, "What if I wanted to meet him?"

"Well, her."

"And you didn't bring _her_ home so you could-"

"Jack Harkness!"

Jack snorted out a laugh.  "Sorry, sorry, touched a nerve there.  Who is she?"

John want back to rustling up some blankets for himself from the linen cabinet.  "The woman I took pictures of, Rose."

"The one you're obsessed with?"

He colored deeply.  "Not obsessed, no."

Jack watched John movements for a minute as John seemed to be on razor's edge, throwing blankets around and adjusting pillows as though the comfort of them depended on the nation's safety.  The American narrowed his eyes.  "You _did_ bring her home."

"She's drunk.  Really drunk, Jack.  Her friend left her and she couldn't remember where she lived, so I brought her here," he sighed and sat down on the couch.  "She's taking the bed."

"Did she say anything to you?" Jack sat in the seat across from John, looking at the other man over the coffee table.  "I mean, in her inebriated state it would've been easy to say something about what happened, back at the church."

John nodded slowly, twiddling his thumbs.  "She kept coming onto me, and when I was trying to tuck her in she just pulled me on top of her and snogged me."

Jack awarded him with an admiring look.  "I'm proud of you, John.  It's very difficult to keep away from a woman you're so desperately in like with."

"She's _drunk."_

"I'm still proud."

"Thanks."

There was a beat of silence, and Jack leaned forward.  "So what are you going to tell her in the morning, then?"

John looked up, his eyes wide, as though he really had no idea what to say to that.  It hadn't occurred to him at all what he would tell her.  Obviously, she was at 'blackout' drunk, because she'd kissed him and said things to him she never would've said had she been even a little bit sober.  He put his head in his hands and groaned.

"Hey, it's okay," Jack said encouragingly, "You can talk to her tomorrow, tell her what happened.  As long as she still has clothes on it'll be okay.  She has clothes on, right?"

John nodded.  "I gave her a shirt to wear, she had on... Clubbing clothes."

"Bet she's a hot one."

John averted his gaze, still fidgeting nervously.  "Yeah, she's gorgeous.  You saw the pictures."

"Yeah, but you had her all dolled up in that classy flowy thing.  A woman in tight clothes and a women in loose clothes bring out two different women."

"She's gorgeous, okay?" John blurted out.  "She's lovely and kind and clever and she is stone cold _drunk_  sleeping in my bed.  But she doesn't _want_ me like that, so when she gets up in the morning I have to pretend that she didn't kiss me and and come onto me and try to get me to-" he ran his hands thorough his hair, cutting himself off.  "She's the kind of woman I could fall in love with.  The kind of woman I would _want_ to give myself over to."

Jack stared at his friend.  He'd never seen him react this way over a woman.  "Than you should tell her," he said quietly.

"But she doesn't-"

"Obviously she does if she was all over you tonight," Jack pointed out.  "I'll be here in the morning too, if it'll make you feel better."

"Yeah.  Thanks, Jack."

"Anytime, boss."  Jack clapped John on the shoulder before heading off to his own bedroom.

***

The first thing Rose noticed when she woke up was that she had a killer headache.  She groaned, rolling over in bed and pressing her face into the pillow.  When she inhaled, though, she didn't smell like her laundry detergent, and she sat up roughly.  This was not her room.  Who's room was it?  Panicking, she looked down at herself and saw she was wearing a men's t-shirt.  She flopped back on the bed, groaning in the back of her throat.  What had she _done?_

Someone knocked gently at the door, and she curled up in the bed at the noise.  "Come in, I guess," she said weakly.  "Just... Just be quiet."

The door eased open, and John Smith entered.  She resisted the urge to groan again at the sight of him.  He looked sheepish, but was fully clothed and didn't look hungover at all.  He carried a tray with two cups of tea, a cup of water, a slice of toast, and a little medicine cup with painkillers in it.

"Good morning," he said softly, putting the tray over her lap as she sat up against the headboard and tugged the duvet around her lap.  "I thought you might want to drink some more water.  I made you drink a glass before you went to sleep, but you might-" he gestured vaguely at the tray.

"Thank you," she said quietly, trying to be careful of her own sensitivity.  "I'm sorry, what did I... What did I do last night?"

John looked instantly uncomfortable.  "Nothing that'll hold lasting regrets, I promise.  You were just a little... Unfiltered." 

She took a sip of the water from the tray.  "Do tell."

"Do you really want to know?" 

"Yeah, I guess that might be best," she said, "I need to know what to apologize for."

John looked away from her.  "Your friend left you and you forgot where you lived, so I offered to drive you to my place so you could get some sleep.  You... Said some things, and did some things, and we got chips before we came home and I sent you off to bed."

She rubbed her forehead before taking the painkillers.  "What did I do, specifically?"

"Rose, I really don't think-"

"John.  Tell me."

He gave her a pained expression.  "You kissed me," he said softly.

She bit her lip.  "Oh," she replied.

"Yeah, 'oh'," he looked away from her.  "Listen, whenever you're done, I can take you home."

"Okay, but you can... You could stay and have tea with me, if you wanted."

He nodded and settled a little bit into the mattress.  She drank the water and set the glass back down, watching him carefully.  It was hard to look at him for too long, though, the attraction she felt for him was blindingly strong.  

"I don't know where you left your clothes," he told her, "I left right before you changed."

She watched him curiously, "You took the couch, didn't you?"

He nodded and looked at her incredulous.  "Of course I did," he said.  "Why would you think anything else?"

"I wouldn't."

"Good morning, kids!" Jack entered the room and Rose winced. 

John shushed him.  Jack ignored him and beamed at Rose.

"Jack Harkness, pleasure to meet you."

Rose forced a grin and shook his hand.  "Likewise."

"I'm off to class, John, but I've left your camera out to charge."

"Thanks."

"Yeah.  See you later."  He threw Rose another charming grin and left the room.

"You taking more photos today?" She asked him.

"No, not exactly," he replied, "I sort of wore down the battery looking through... Well, looking through your pictures to see what to print for you.  Jack must've seen it and plugged it in for me."

Rose gazed downward and tore off a little piece of toast to eat.  She looked up at him.  "You're really very talented, John."

He smiled, regretfully, she thought.  "Yeah, you said that last night."  He inhaled sharply and looked away from her.  "Uh, let me know when you've finished, I'll take you home."

He stood up to move away and Rose reached out to grab him by the wrist.  "I'm sorry," she said suddenly.  "I've been awful to you, and there was no call for it."

"It's fine, Rose."

"It's not!" She winced at her own volume and lowered it.  "Really, it's not.  I just... I can't be that way, not with anyone, it's not you."

"'It's not you, it's me'," John said, "I know.  Just let me know when you're finished."

He couldn't look at her as he pulled his wrist from her grasp and left the room without saying another word to her or looking at her.  Rose sat back on the bed and began the task of eating the piece of toast. 

When she was finished she hunted around for her clothes, and upon finding them, changed and took of John's shirt, folding it up and putting it on the edge of his bed.  She made the bed, too, just for good measure.  

She walked out into his lounge, her head pounding less frightfully now.  John turned from where he'd been inspecting his camera and looked at her.  "Ready?" He asked her.

Instead of responding, she walked forwards and wrapped her arms around his waist.  He stiffened against her in shock, but finally, his hands settled across her back.  

"Thank you," she said against his chest.

"What for?" He asked, his voice rumbling through her cheek.

"I would've been in a lot of trouble if you hadn't been there and Martha had left," she said, "If I couldn't remember where I lived."

He chuckled under his breath.  "Well, do you remember where you live now?"

She nodded and pulled back slightly to look at him.  That tension was back, but the good kind of tension, one that made her ache for him.  She saw him swallow. 

"I'd like to take pictures of you again," he blurted out suddenly.

She smiled, feeling some of the fear leave her when she looked in his eyes. "Okay," she said, "I'd like that."


	8. Chapter 8

He took her home that morning and she impulsively kissed his cheek before he told her he'd call her to set up another shoot.  He'd looked so shy and unsure that it nearly made her heart break.  

Still nursing her hangover, she walked up to her dorm and flung the door open, startling Martha, who was working at her desk.

"Blimey, you gave me a scare, Rose, what's wrong with you?"

Rose raised her eyebrows.  "You left me!  You left me in a bar with a man you thought was a psycho killer not too long ago.  And you ask what's _wrong_ with me?"

Martha had the nerve to look a bit regretful at Rose's onslaught of words.  "I'm sorry, Rose, I really didn't think of it that way.  I thought you just needed to confess your feelings or something, and they say alcohol loosens the tongue."

"Yeah, it did," Rose flopped down on her bed, staring miserably up at the ceiling.  "I was completely sloshed, Martha.   Came onto him all night, kissed him when he was just trying to be helpful... And I forgot where I lived, so he had to take me into his flat."

"You slept in his flat?"

"I took the bed, he took the couch," she replied.  "It's fine, it is, but in the future I'd like you to not leave me drunk in a bar with a man."

Martha crossed her heart.  "You have my solemn oath."  She paused.  "Wait, then who brought you home?  Did you have money?  Why didn't you call?"

"John drove me," she replied, "Apparently he even had be drink a glass of water last night so my hangover wouldn't be so bad."  She breathed out a long sigh, "And he's going to take more pictures of me."

Martha rolled her eyes.  "And you say you don't like him."

Rose furrowed her brows.  "I never said I didn't like him.  I just said it would be a bad idea, and it is, but since I all but crawled into his lap in his car, I sort of owe him a friendship."

"You don't owe him anything."

"Okay, well then maybe I'm doing it for me."

Martha gave her a disbelieving look.  "Alright, so both of you are absolutely besotted with each other, he was the perfect gentleman to you last night, and you agreed to let him take pictures of you again, but you won't get in a relationship with him?"

Rose nodded slowly, "That's pretty much it, yeah."

"Wow."

"Oh, come on.  It's better than us being-"

"Just snog him the next time you see him, won't you?  The tension is killing me from here."

****

Where John was with Jack, he was having a similar conversation.  John was pacing and Jack sat on the couch, looking like a therapist taking notes on his patient.  

"And you said you wanted to photograph her again, and she said yes?" Jack raised an eyebrow skeptically.  John nodded miserably.

"Yes, she said we would set something up, and I'm going to call her a little later," he said.

"And how, exactly, is that a problem?" Jack asked patiently, trying not to throttle his roommate.  

John sighed and flopped into the armchair at the opposite end of the room.  "Because, every time I look at her I just want to... Hold her, and stuff."

"'Hold her and stuff'?" Jack rolled his eyes.  "You're such a teenager."

"She's gorgeous, Jack, you saw her.  I shouldn't have asked her.  I just want to be with her, and she's kissed me, twice now, and then she just runs away."

"Then you've really got to just tell her what you're about, don't you?" Jack said, exasperated.  "You've got to give it a push.  Just tell her, 'Oh, yeah, that's a good pose, and by the way, I'm elbow over arse for you."

" _Jack."_

"Honestly, John.  Give her a call, plan to look _nice,_ and take her picture.  Then tell her, very politely, that you are obsessed with her and would probably like to marry her."

John blushed and glanced away.  "I'm really not obsessed with her, I don't know why you said that."

Jack rolled his eyes.  "Okay, sure.  But really, you've got to at least give her hints."

"I gave her a hint when I was snogging her and pretty much on top of her on an _altar_ in a _church."_

"Maybe be a bit more subtle this time?"

"She doesn't want that from me, Jack, and I'm not going to force her."

"Give her a call, I'll sit here and watch."

John rolled his eyes, but dug his mobile out of his pocket.  He dialed her number and shot Jack a dirty look as he placed the phone to his ear.  Rose picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Rose, it's John.  How are you feeling?"

Jack made a motion of sipping tea with his pinky out, and John scowled. 

"I'm feeling much better, thank you," Rose said.  "Are you calling about the shoot?"

"Yeah.  Yes.  I'm hoping to do an indoor piece this time, if that's alright with you."

"That's just fine," Rose replied, and he could hear her rustling around, presumably for her calendar book.  "At your flat?" 

"The lighting is good here," he said weakly.  Jack gave him a startled look and nodded vigorously.  So, that plan was very quickly Jack-approved.  He practically held his breath as he waited for Rose to stop moving around and say something.

"Okay.  I'm free tomorrow and next Friday."

"Let's..." He paused, reading Jack's lips as he mouthed 'soon' over and over.  John rolled his eyes.  "Let's shoot for tomorrow, then, around three?"

Another long pause from Rose's end.  "Yeah, that'll work fine.  I'll see you then."

"Great!  Brilliant, even.  Do you need me to send you the address?"

"No, I know how to get there."

He blinked in surprise.  "Alright.  Goodbye, then."

"'Bye."

He hung up and stared at Jack.  "So, she's coming over tomorrow.  I have to get out my lights and equipment."  

"Say no more, I'll make myself scarce," Jack said, grinning smugly.

John flushed deeply, "I didn't say that I wanted you to make yourself scarce.  I was just telling you when she was coming."

"Well, I'll very cleverly slip out."

"I didn't say-"

"You didn't have to, but I'm going to do it anyway," Jack said firmly.  "You might need some alone time."

John cleared his throat.  "We... We definitely don't need that."

He wasn't sure that he wanted Jack around anyway, but it wasn't because of the reasons he was thinking.  If we wanted to earn Rose's trust, he'd have to do so without Jack's constant innuendo assaulting both of them.  It was really easier to just let him do what he wanted, and if he wanted to leave, then fine.

Jack wrinkled his nose at John.  "And by the way, I'd press a shirt or something.  You want to look nice.  Do you still own a suit?"

"Of course I own a suit," John said incredulously.  "I've just sort of ruined the dress shoes, that's all."

"You're hopeless," Jack replied.  "But hopefully that won't matter to her."

He certainly hoped they wouldn't.


	9. Chapter 9

John texted her and sent her a rundown on what to wear.  He asked her to curl her hair and wear another dress, a straight up formal this time, no summery, flowy things now.  Rose, luckily, had one of those.  She had a blue dress with an mostly open back that had laces under the shoulder blades.  On the front was embroidery, all over the bodice but trickling off before the full, ballroom-esque skirt.  It was ruffly but not too much so.  It reminded Rose of a toned-down Cinderella with a darker blue.  

She got ready, curling her hair like he had asked and allowing herself to go a little heavier on the makeup to fit the rest of the look.  Slipping on a pair of silver high heels, she figured she was ready.  Martha was watching her from her desk, eating a bag of crisps.  

"You gonna take your mobile?" Martha asked.

"You gonna abandon me if I get drunk?"

"Alright, that's fair."

Rose gathered up her things.  "Don't wait up," she said, "Dunno how long we're going to be.  I don't plan on running away this time."

"Good for you.  Have a nice time," she said, giving Rose a little finger wave as she left, mobile and excess skirt in hand.

Hailing a taxi was nothing short of embarrassing.  When she finally caught one, the first thing the driver asked was "Where to?" in the most surprised tone she'd ever heard.

Rose gave him the address.  "Before you get any ideas, I'm modeling."  She shifted her skirt around in the seat in a desperate attempt to keep it from wrinkling.  

"Wasn't gonna ask, not my job," the driver laughed.

Rose couldn't help but grin in response, "Yeah, I'm still new to it though.  I should probably get a car of my own."

"Until then, I'm sure your getups will entertain taxi drivers all around London," the taxi driver said encouragingly.

When she got out of the car at John's flat, she felt more nervous than she should've.  She wiped her sweaty hands on her dress and set off up the stairs.  Reaching the door, she raised her hand to knock twice before actually steeling her nerves enough to rap harshly on the door.  

"Coming!" She heard John's voice from within and some shuffling.  He flung the door open, hitting her with a breeze.  She blinked and looked him over.  He'd dressed up as well, wearing a pinstriped suit with an oxford and tie.  She looked down and noticed he was wearing Converses with the ensemble. 

"You look nice," she blurted out.

He smiled.  "You look beautiful, as usual," he beckoned for her to enter.  She walked past him into the flat, setting her mobile down on the coffee table and turned to John, about to open her mouth when Jack came sauntering in.  

"Hi, Rosie!" He walked over to kiss her on the cheek.  

Rose giggled and smiled at him, putting her hand in the one he extended.  "Hello, Jack."

"I'm on my way out, don't have too much fun," he winked at Rose before brushing past John and walking out the door.  

Rose shook her head, "He's quite the character."

John rolled his eyes dramatically.  "That he is.  Come in," he placed his hand on the small of her back and led her to the lounge, where several photography lights were set up.  It looked like it would be blinding, and Rose squinted just looking at it. 

"I promise it's not as bad as it looks."

She turned to look at him and immediately looked guilty.  "I didn't mean to be rude," she said by way of explanation.

"I wasn't blaming you.  They look bright.  Would you have a seat on the couch for me?" 

Rose followed his instruction and sat down in the center of the couch.  To her mild surprise, John followed, arranging her skirts.  She noticed that he did not get as close to her as he had before, in the field at the church, and she realized that she only had herself to blame for it.  She was the one who had pushed him away.  It was her fault that he was afraid to touch her, after she'd propositioned him twice and pulled away abruptly after.  It wasn't fair to him.

He took a piece of curled hair and fluffed it a bit, keeping it out of her face.  "Need to see your eyes," he murmured, almost to himself.  He shifted her so she was sitting at an angle and set her hands behind her, keeping her entirely at a diagonal.

"Don't move," he said, and moved back to his tripod, setting up his camera and flicking it on.  He squinted and took the first picture.  He pulled back to inspect it and nodded to himself.  "The lighting is good," he told her in an informative tone.  He was being impersonal, and again, she couldn't blame him.  It didn't stop a pit from settling into her stomach.

"Tilt your head a bit?"

"Yeah, sorry."

He pulled a rolling chair up and sat behind his tripod, focusing on her now.  "Move however... I don't know, however the spirit moves you," he waved his hand vaguely and Rose laughed. 

As she was laughing he snapped a quick picture of her.  He grinned up at her and opened his mouth, as if to compliment her again, but seemed to think better of it and hid behind his camera once more.  "I'm going to put music on," he said abruptly, and rolled his chair over to a radio in the corner of the room.  He set a CD to play and rolled himself back over to the camera as Coldplay filtered through the room.  

Rose knew, deep down, that he'd put on the music so that they wouldn't have to fill the space with talking.  She liked the music, but at the moment, it was only hurting her.  He was taking pictures and she was moving, but it wasn't with the ease as before.  It felt forced, not as natural as before.  She was wound up, in more than one way.  

"Can you-" he cleared his throat, "Can you lay back for me?"

Rose nodded, shifting to lay with her head against the arm rest of the couch.  As if reading his mind, she pulled the skirt so it lay over the side of the couch in a curtain of blue fabric.  She watched John carefully.

"One arm over your head, please," he said softly, "Fingertips in your hair if you can."

She followed his instructions, never once moving her eyes from his.  It seemed to make him uncomfortable that she was doing that, but she wasn't about to talk.  She wanted to look at him, and she was going to.

He tilted his camera, taking pictures of her in that pose from several different angles.  She noticed every once in a while, his hands would start to shake. 

They were there for two hours, the same CD on loop but neither of them noticing, as he positioned her in several different ways, some poses more seductive than others, some making her feel very much like a princess.  He showed no signs of slowing, either, and she realized this must've been the sort of shoot he'd wanted to have before: with the one she'd ruined.  

"John," Rose sat up from her precarious position of half upside down and stared straight at him.  

He looked up at her, startled.  "Yes, Rose?" He asked softly, almost as though he were afraid of her.  

She walked straight up to him, around his camera, until she was standing between his knees.  He was close to eye level there, with how high up his seat was.  He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, staring at her. 

"I find," he said, a little uncertainly, "I find it's easier to model when you're on the other side of the lens."

Rose let out a huff of a laugh and cupped his cheeks.  "I'm sorry," she said simply, in as blunt of a tone of voice as she could.  

He blinked and, almost in an unconscious move, lifted his hands to hold her waist.  "I don't understand," he replied.

"I've been awful to you," she said, "Really, properly awful."

"I... I understand why, I suppose, but I didn't ask for your pity."

"It's not pity," she protested, trying not to focus on the heat of his hands through her dress.  "It's-It's me not being afraid anymore."

"Afraid of what?"

"You," she said.  Without further preamble and her heart hammering wildly in her chest, she pressed her mouth to his.  

He gasped at the contact, showing he wasn't expecting it, which was obvious.  She curled her fingers against his skin, trying to convey the need to hold him closer.  His fingers twitched against her waist and he finally settled on clutching her close to him.  

Suddenly though, he pushed her away, their roles reversed.  She furrowed her brows in confusion at him. 

"I'm sorry," she said, "I thought-"

"I do," he replied, holding her where she was before she could drop her hands from him.  "But we need to talk first."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter, everyone! Hope that you enjoy how things turn out, and thank you for all the love on this story. This ending means that "Assassin of Madness" will have more frequent updates from now on.
> 
> enjoy!

"Talk about what?" Rose asked.  

"Everything that's happened to us since we met on campus," John said, standing and pacing away from her.  She suddenly felt cold without his touch.  

"I told you, I was afraid, and I'm not any more."

"What were you afraid of?" John nearly shouted, "I hardly think that I was so frightening as to scare you."

Rose shook her head.  "It wasn't you," she said.  "It was Jimmy Stone."

John wrinkled his nose.  "From Cambridge?"

"From the Estates," she corrected.  "I fell for him so fast, and I was so young.  He was in a band, was sure that they'd make it big, and so I went with him, promised him everything I girl can without marrying him.  And then, one day, he was gone.  Stole all my money and ran, after I dropped out of school for him and I... I just guess I forgot all men weren't like that."

Instead of watching him, she looked down at her hands and picked at her cuticles.  She could practically _hear_ him thinking from where she was standing.  He shifted around and made an odd sort of strangled grunt.  

"How could you think that I was like that?" He asked softly, "You really thought I would do that to you?"

"I didn't know _what_ you would do to me," Rose replied, "I don't know what you want or need, with me, especially.  What if you just wanted what he did?  To earn my trust and get me close, and invested, and then take everything I was worth."

When she looked up at him, she saw the hurt reflected so sharply in his eyes that it seemed to punch her in the face.  She felt her heart fall and she dropped her gaze from him.  She couldn't stand the fact that she'd hurt him, when all he'd done was be kind to her over and over.  

"How could you think," he began softly, "That I would want to do anything but care for you?"

Rose's head snapped up and she stared at him.  "Because... Because, well, I didn't know you, at all.  And every piece of me just wanted to kiss you and it came out of nowhere because I haven't wanted to be with anyone, not since Jimmy.   You terrify me."

"You think I'm not scared of you?"

The words hung heavily between them.  They were caught staring at each other, both feeling the magnetic pull but resisting the urge to give into it.  They needed to sort things out, properly sort them out, and even though the only thing they wanted to do was snog the daylights out of each other, it probably wasn't the smartest move.

"Why-" She cleared her throat violently and laced her fingers together in front of her, squeezing them together almost painfully.  "Why would you be scared of me?"

He approached her suddenly and cupped her cheeks tenderly.  "Look at you, Rose."  He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, the shaking in his hands not lost on her.  "You're beautiful and kind and clever and... No one understands me like you do, Rose, and I haven't even known you that long, so it's _terrifying."_

"I'm just a person," she protested.

"So am I," he retorted.  "I'm not Jimmy Stone.  I'd never take anything from you that I couldn't give back.  If I were to run anywhere, I'd take you with me."

She blinked back the telltale prick of tears behind her eyes and tipped her head forward so he wouldn't see.  He was still cupping her face when he leaned forward and pressed his lips in an unmoving kiss to her forehead.  Her hands went to his waist and she stayed there tentatively before wrapping her arms all the way around him, holding him close.  His arms went around her back and he lifted his chin to let her tuck her head underneath it.  

"You mean that, don't you?" She whispered, letting her eyes flutter closed as she clung to him.  They were pressed so close together they might as well have been the same person.  

"Yes," he ran his hands up and down her back.  "I haven't been willing to be will someone in years, Rose, what feels like centuries.  And all of a sudden I run into you, quite literally, and then I can't stop thinking about you."

Rose let out an odd, choking sound that John certainly interpreted as a sob.  He squeezed her tight against him.  She'd never been spoken to that way by a man, like she mattered more than anything in the universe.  He valued her, and why, she really didn't understand, having never been treasured in such a way and never having had a father to do it and show her how someone was loved by their dad.

"I've never-" she started, but turned her face into his jacket instead, unable to finish her thought.  "I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled by the fabric.

He pressed his cheek to her head, searching for any way to get closer to her.  "You never meant it, did you?" He asked, "When you ran."

"I shouldn't have run."

John pulled back slightly and looked down at her.  "Are you saying you would've done things differently, had you... Had you known then what you know now?"

Rose met his eyes and removed her arms from around his waist to loop them around his neck instead.  "Would've kept kissing you, for one."

One of his hands skimmed to splay across her upper back.  "And?

Her fingers made their way into his hair.  "Trusted you."  

"Rose?"

"Yes, John?"

"I think I'm done talking now."

"Me too."

He kissed her then, and it was unlike any kiss, drunken or not, that they'd shared before now.  It was powerful and slow, a promise behind every shift and touch.  He waited just for a few moments before opening his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss.  

Slowly, they made their way to the couch, Rose kicking her shoes off on the way.  John laid her down across it, bringing himself over her, trying not to separate his mouth from hers.  This was all he wanted, for her to be his, to not run away from him.  Just to hold her.  

She pulled her skirts so he could settle over her more comfortably, which he had to say he appreciated greatly.  Although, he was really not saying anything at all, he was too busy finding every place he could to kiss Rose.  He worked his way across her jaw and down to her neck, where he'd left the mark before, one she'd inevitably covered up with makeup.  Now, though, she would look at it in the mirror and know that the man who gave it to her was completely devoted to her.

"Just you," he murmured against her skin.  She nodded and ran her fingers through his hair, unable to do much else.  

He shifted uncomfortably and ceased kissing her to look her in the face.  "This is hardly an ideal spot," he said simply.

She tilted her head towards the short hallway across from where they were lying.  "You know, I think I remember where your bedroom is.

As it turned out, she didn't have to remember, because he carried her there.

***************************

"Good morning!" They heard a shout the next morning, muffled by the wood of the locked bedroom door.  

John groaned and cuddled closer to Rose.  She giggled and tilted her chin up for a kiss.  He did so eagerly, rolling her onto her back as he did so.

She reluctantly broke away and laid her fingers across his lips.  "We've company now," she scolded him. 

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and bit down before making a sound that Rose made out as 'so?'

"John, these aren't your shoes out here, are they?  And you didn't turn your lights off out here, that's an electricity sucker!" Jack yelled from the lounge.  

John pulled back from her with a huff of irritation.  "You know, if we're quiet, he won't even know we're here."

She leaned up and bit his bottom lip gently, which he turned into a slow kiss that made her body grow limp under his.  However, it really seemed their mood was spoiled by Jack and John had to satisfy himself with laying down on top of her, his head pillowed on her chest.  

Rose ran her fingers lovingly through his hair, pausing to massage his scalp on her way up.  He hummed contentedly and shifted to press a kiss to her collarbone.  She barely stifled a giggle as his fringe tickled her cheek.  

"John are you home?" They heard Jack slamming around in the cupboards and John nearly growled in irritation.

"Shh, it's fine," Rose drew him up to kiss her again, long and slow.  He sighed against her, the hand not holding himself up skimming up her side.

"John," Jack drew his name out in a long, irritated syllable.  

John laid down next to her.  "Well, we can't-with him- _yelling."_

"Yeah," Rose replied, curling into his side as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.  He pressed a loving kiss to her hair and she hummed happily.

"That's okay, though," she said quietly, "You could just hold me."

"My pleasure."

"Oh, John, is Rose here?  Oh.   _Oh._ Sorry, kids!  Hi, Rose!"

Rose giggled and shouted back "Hi, Jack!"

John rolled his eyes.  It wasn't ever going to be a normal life, was it?

******************

"I'll never do to you what's already been done by someone else.  When I run, you'll run with me, holding my hand, and that's all I want out of life.  I love you, Rose Tyler, more than time or space or anything that could ever be offered to us."

"John Smith, before you, I thought men were merely people who were meant to destroy me, but no.  You, you're the man I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with, and I would never have it any other way.  I love you."

"I do."

"I do."

"I now pronounce you husband and wife.  You may now kiss the bride."

"My pleasure!"

The groomsmen rode bicycles into the reception.  


End file.
